


And I Just Can't Wait

by dreamlittleyo



Series: I'm Not Sorry (Kinky Dice Oneshots) [11]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, But Hey It's Science Fiction, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marriage, Object Penetration, Painplay, Schmoop, Sex Toys, Tentacle Sex Sort Of, everyone has a good time, probably unsafe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 03:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17521277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: George returns from a lengthy business trip with a gift for his impatient husband.





	And I Just Can't Wait

From a pragmatic standpoint, their system is perfect.

They've _always_ made a good team. The moment they met, Alexander knew George was something special. Something unique and brilliant, an improbable gift that the universe had brought into existence specifically for him.

Every challenge and milestone since has only confirmed his initial assessment. The work they did together before deciding to start a business of their own. The day they signed the paperwork to form a limited liability multi-galactic partnership. The night they finally gave in to temptation and decided to mix business with pleasure.

The seven years they've been married since.

There's also the fact that their little two-man LLMGC has expanded into a corporate behemoth more successful than either one of them could have predicted. The amount of business they do is staggering—the commercial sectors under their control difficult to wrap his head around some days—and damn it, Alexander's head is _good_ at big numbers.

They _need_ their system to be perfect. They need to be practical. Everything they've built rests on the smooth operation of a mammoth economic empire, which is a lot to juggle at once.

This is where the supposed perfection falters. Yes, they make an excellent team. Yes, Alexander is exactly where he needs to be, centered at the nexus of corporate headquarters, a power-house managing far too many aspects of the company's daily affairs. And yes, George is the ideal public face for the company, a flawless diplomat and negotiator forming new connections, expanding those connections into wider and wider markets.

But the farther those negotiations take George away, the longer he is gone. And time spent apart will _never_ be perfect.

Alexander has always been complete shit at delegating his own duties. But he misses traveling with his husband, like he used to when their endeavors were smaller and closer to home. He especially misses it when George is absent for weeks at a time. _Six weeks_ this trip. Not that Alexander has been obsessively counting the days.

A month and a half is _definitely_ too long. Screw in-person negotiations. They'll have to find some way to train a stand-in to negotiate their more distant contracts. Or, hell, maybe Alexander should learn to delegate more of the nonsense he has so much trouble letting go of.

He would happily spend months in transit to the ass end of nowhere, so long as he could do it in George's company.

Today the point is moot. His husband will be home soon, and Alexander has ended his own work day early—possibly the first time he's ever done so absent illness or intervening crisis—so that he can be here at home. Waiting. Keeping his restless impatience away from the kinds of important corporate matters that require a level head. Curious as he is about how the negotiations went—Alexander is not entirely clear on the logistics of selling liquor to sentient cephalopods—he's far less vested in their business results than in hurling himself into George's arms.

By the time the front door slides open and George steps across the threshold, Alexander is a whirlwind of anticipation. George is maneuvering a veritable mountain of luggage—the man has _never_ been willing to let other people carry his burdens for him—but he wisely sets it all down as the door slides shut. Braced for the hurtling speed with which Alexander rushes across the foyer to meet him.

For several minutes, neither of them says a word. There's no space for spoken language when they're crushed so close, arms wrapped tightly around each other, mouths otherwise occupied. For all the desperation in Alexander's blood, there is matching urgency in George's kisses. It's achingly clear his husband missed him too.

Alexander's lips are tingling by the time he finally eases back far enough to look George in the eye. His senses are spinning for want of air, and his entire body feels deliciously warm.

He quirks a flirtatious grin. "Did you bring me a present?"

George always brings him a present. It's a well-established tradition. And never mind that there's no predicting whether this time it will be something outlandishly extravagant, or some cheap and chintzy bauble George found in the space port on his way home. Alexander still asks. He _always_ asks. Because that's a tradition too.

He doesn't know quite what to make of the sly smile that crosses George's face in answer. The expression is downright mischievous, and that's… sincerely disconcerting. George Washington does not _do_ mischief. Alexander has never seen any look quite like this one on his husband's face.

"Come on. Help me carry my things."

And god damn it, George says this like nothing is amiss. Like his eyes aren't absolutely _glittering_ with promise. Like his failure to answer Alexander's question isn't a cruel tease designed to rile him up.

Alexander takes hold of one of the heavier suitcases while George gathers everything else, and together they move along the hall, past home offices and dining room and the massive library George commissioned as a wedding present. All the way to the master bedroom, where George sets all his bags down against the wall and Alexander follows suit. It's late enough that twin sunsets are painting the sky in giddy pinks and purples, a gorgeous view through the enormous window, and Alexander ignores it. Stares at George with as much stillness as he can muster.

Only a handful of minutes have passed since he posed his question, and already his curiosity has reached a desperate frenzy.

Thank god George immediately kneels and opens the largest suitcase, withdrawing a sizable box. It's long—nearly as long as Alexander's entire arm—and several inches deep. Clearly a gift box, judging by the silvery surface and gold lid. And heavier than it looks, Alexander realizes when George stands and puts the package into his hands. A moment's consideration, and Alexander takes his gift across the room, hopping up to sit cross-legged at the foot of their bed.

He lays the box across his lap, considering the surprising weight of it. George remains in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets. Watching Alexander with a cryptic flicker of a smile.

It takes only a moment to figure out how to slide the lid off, and Alexander removes it smoothly, setting it beside him on the mattress. The contents of the box are hidden with a layer of sheening, crinkled paper that makes plenty of noise when he folds back the edges for a glimpse beneath.

The item that fills the container is slender at one end, almost as wide as the box itself at the other. And if it weren't for the smooth, glittering shine of the material, Alexander might mistake it for something organic.

"What in god's name is it?" he asks, with a furrowed brow and a tremor of anticipation.

"It's a physiologically realistic Regulan marital aid."

Alexander does not take his eyes off the beautiful monstrosity. "You bought me an alien sex toy."

"I've bought you alien sex toys before."

"This one looks like a tentacle."

"Yes." Humor brightens George's one-word reply.

"An _exceptionally large_ tentacle." Alexander touches it, lifting the slender end from its bed of plasticky tissue paper. He finds it firm but incredibly flexible, a strange combination of softness and texture. The larger end is improbably wide—bigger than Alexander's fist—maybe even bigger than _George's_ fist. It's also perfectly smooth, tapering down only to flare again into a wide base. Good lord, this thing is meant to function as a plug. Not designed for humans obviously, but… Well, since when does that matter?

"I told you it was physiologically realistic." George is smiling wider now. Alexander can hear it in his voice—sees it when he raises his head to make incredulous eye contact—and a moment later George adds, "If you don't want to—"

"Oh, fuck that," Alexander interrupts. "You don't get to bring home something like this and then _not_ put it in me." Even if he can't imagine how it will go—how it will _feel_ —he's damn well going to try.

"What if it's too much?" George teases, finally sitting beside him.

"Then I guess that's a lesson I'll learn the hard way."

And. Well, honestly. They're already _in the bedroom_. And Alexander's top priority involved tearing his husband's clothes off even before he learned they have adventurous new ground to cover. It doesn't take much convincing to get George naked and into bed with him, right where they belong. Clothing scattered in all directions, anticipation heating the very air between them. A generous bottle of lube dents the comforter beside them, and even this is enough to set Alexander's pulse racing with mounting excitement.

Fucking hell, they're going to do this. The thought that it _might_ be too much isn't enough to temper his eagerness to try. The promise of pain—and there _will_ be pain—only ignites brighter arousal in his blood. George has never been stingy when it comes to indulging his craving for pain, but there is still something heady in the knowledge that they are so utterly on the same page tonight. George bought this toy, brought it home for him, knowing full well what this experiment would entail.

It's a damn good thing they have all night to themselves, and no obligation to be anywhere in the morning. Besides being physically arduous, this is going to take _time_. Willing as George is to hurt him, there are lines they don't cross. Alexander's husband is adventurous in the bedroom, but he is also protective as hell when it comes to Alexander's health and wellbeing. 

For all that George has fucked him with sizable toys before, they've never tried anything as daunting as this.

But Alexander knows that, intimidating as the thing looks, it won't damage him. So what if he can't imagine taking the whole thing inside him at once? George wouldn't have brought it home without thorough research, confirming it's safe for human use.

When Alexander thinks about his husband _doing_ that research—alone and lonely in a distant star system—he can picture it easily. George probably jerked off to the information, imagining splitting Alexander open with this impossible thing. Just like Alexander would have touched himself imagining the same scenario if he'd had _any inkling_ what would be arriving in his husband's luggage.

He wonders if George is going to insist on fucking him first. Take the edge off for one of them at least, before the main event begins. For a long while, as George pins him to the bed and spoils him with kisses, it seems like a real possibility. But instead of slicking his cock and forcing his way between spread thighs, George backs off. 

He turns down the offer of Alexander's mouth. But even as he refuses, he is smiling.

George is patient when he begins to work Alexander open with slick fingers. He takes it slow, despite the way Alexander almost immediately begins writhing and panting and begging for more. Whenever they fuck, George goes up to two fingers and then stops, opening him the rest of the way on that gorgeous cock. But tonight it's a maddeningly gradual progression, from two fingers to three, then the overwhelming stretch of four digits at his straining entrance.

Then— _finally_ —after what feels like hours, when Alexander doesn't think he can stand another second of waiting, George withdraws completely in order to collect the impressive new toy.

It's so easy at first. George applies generous lube to the tapered tip, and after the thick strain of four fingers Alexander barely feels it nudging his rim. He becomes aware of the narrow length nestling inside him well before the stretch becomes noticeable. He stares up at the rapt, focused expression on George's face, his husband's full attention held by the space between Alexander's spread thighs. So careful. So fierce with arousal.

The toy slides deeper by maddening degrees, slick and steady, slowly stretching him wider. The girth is easily the size of George's cock now, and Alexander struggles to relax his body and let it in. He feels uncomfortably full already, not just where the wider part is beginning to force him even more open, but inside. The tapered end feels so utterly strange, a wriggling sensation as every new inch George feeds into him results in a shift of everything already there. Jesus, it's so fucking weird.

It's so fucking _good_.

"Still all right?" George asks when Alexander's body instinctively resists a more forceful push of the slick intrusion—a first flicker of pain breaking through more surreal sensations.

A whimper chokes off as Alexander involuntarily tries to close his legs, and he draws a sharp breath. "Yeah." He means it. The pain is good too—he will welcome more of it—and George knows him well enough not to question his sincerity. They understand each other, and George won't shy from offering pain alongside welcome pleasure.

This madness promises to be the best of all possible worlds, and Alexander exhales hard when the progress resumes.

His senses are spinning, but everything goes warm and soft when George praises him. Tells him he's doing so well, being so good.

"So fucking pretty, and we've barely started," George murmurs.

Alexander closes his eyes, overwhelmed and hot, and gasps when George surprises him with another forward slide of the monstrosity between his thighs. He doesn't need to look down to know most of the challenge is yet to come, and his pulse speeds with the thought. He already feels _so full_ ; how can he possibly take the entire thing?

But whatever doubts Alexander might harbor, he swallows them down. Focuses on riding the crest of sensation, the rising pressure as his ass strains inexorably open around the relentless intrusion. 

"Hold onto the headboard," George says when, despite best efforts to remain still and cooperative, Alexander's hands flutter between them as though to push his husband away. "You can do this. I've got you."

But when physical instincts overrun his attempts to behave a second time, Alexander breathlessly admits, "I think you'll have to restrain me." The words come out in a confessional rush, and honestly the thought of being helpless while he is endlessly impaled… Well, he's already diamond-hard, but his cock gives an eager twitch at the idea.

George works efficiently in answer, collecting the soft but unyielding restraints from their hiding places beneath the top corners of the mattress. He uses them to secure both of Alexander's wrists, pinning him soundly in place. But even working fast, when George returns his attention to the space between splayed thighs, he gives a tsk of disapproval.

Alexander knows full well why George is tsk-ing at him. In the short span of seconds, several inches of the slick toy have slipped out of him. Lost progress. Alexander whimpers even though George is as gentle as possible in regaining the lost ground. He gasps an even more helpless sound when George adds more lube and continues. Adding more, on and on despite the way Alexander can no longer refrain from twisting and arching beneath his husband's strong hands.

"Halfway there, love," George breathes, awe and pleasure in his voice even as Alexander chokes on a disbelieving sob.

Fucking hell, he is already splitting open. His insides are beginning to cramp with the unaccustomed volume as the end of the toy twines and slithers farther inside him. His rim aches feverishly around the cruel girth that is already too much. He feels no temptation to use his safe word and end the experiment, but he also can't help wondering: how can he have taken only half the damn thing when he feels so impossibly full?

George's eyes are fierce, caught on Alexander's face. There's heat, but also something more cautious. A wordless reminder that all this can end with a word, and George _will not_ be disappointed in him.

But.

Fuck that.

The pain is enthralling, a challenge to be conquered. And never mind that his own body keeps trying instinctively to resist what's being forced into him—Alexander will not sound the retreat now. He has every intention of seeing this through to the enormous, probably agonizing end.

" _Keep going_ ," he pleads, even as his wrists twist desperately in their bonds and his back arches atop the mattress. "Oh _fuck_ , don't stop. Give me more. Give me all of it."

So George resumes. With the same maddening slowness as before. The stretch becomes unbearable, but Alexander continues to bear it. And when he can't anymore, George 'helps'—holds him down and gives him no choice but to take more—calling his bluff. Alexander's own voice is ceaseless now, a wrecked litany of pain and pleasure. Wordless and inarticulate as he reacts to the ever-increasing diameter forcing him open, snaking deeper, filling him so slick and smooth and unyielding.

And all the while George is speaking. Soothing, calming, praising, encouraging. Coaxing him to take more, and more, and endlessly more. Alexander loses all track of time. He loses all track of _anything_ beyond the squirming sensation filling his belly—the agony of too much as his thighs are forced wider and wider apart by the intrusion between them—the gentling gravel of his husband speaking words that never reach Alexander's brain through the haze of everything else.

Christ, this thing is _huge_. Alexander's body gives another involuntary spasm, his legs trying to close. Except this time it's not George's hands that thwart the attempt, but the sheer size of the thing splitting him open.

His stomach feels swollen, and when Alexander manages to open his eyes and look down he realizes it's not his imagination—not an exaggerated sense of his body distorted by the mounting pleasure-discomfort-pain. His stomach _looks_ swollen. And perhaps he is imagining that he can see faint movement as George twists and guides and presses the toy harder between his legs, but it's a breathtaking illusion if so.

Alexander throws his head back and cries out as a more ferocious cramp overtakes him and makes him clench around the toy.

"Shhh." George takes one hand from his task to massage Alexander's stomach, and the touch helps. Quiets the protesting muscle and eases the pain back to the right kind of agony. "You're all right. Breathe, my boy. The cramps are temporary. They'll pass soon enough. Breathe through it."

Alexander doesn't try to explain that he's okay. He doesn't have to. George knows him well enough to recognize the way his body relaxes and melts as the torment eases. The persistent progress resumes before Alexander is braced for it. Continuing. Forward and forward and forward.

"You're almost there, sweetheart." There is something incredulous in George's voice now, alongside the possessive heat Alexander knows so well. "My _god_ , look at you. Look how much you've taken for me."

 _Finish it_ , Alexander wants to plead, but he can't. He is too far gone, shaking and crying and thrashing beneath George's hands. He can't fathom how he hasn't simply split in half, how there can possibly be _more_ , how his ass can hope to take whatever is left—

And then, in the span of a startled heartbeat, the last of it slides in. Alexander sobs at the strange sensation, his body closing around the more bluntly tapered end and clenching desperately. The base of the plug is uncomfortable between his thighs, but it's nothing compared to the presence that is now nestled completely inside him. Alexander is panting hard with exertion—with pain—and he wriggles as the toy in his ass settles. It fills him so completely that it's frankly a wonder he can breathe.

Before Alexander can find any of the appropriate oaths and curse words to express this moment, George is on top of him, stretching over his body to catch his mouth in a brutal and eager kiss. The weight across Alexander's distended stomach only amplifies the overwhelming sensation of fullness—it _hurts_ —but he doesn't protest. Simply opens his mouth to let George's tongue thrust forward. A mirror of the more traditional fucking they will _not_ be doing, as there is no conceivable way a cock is going to fit alongside the massive tentacle.

After a moment, George eases off him and releases the restraints from his wrists. Then retreats to kneel once more between Alexander's clumsily splayed thighs, hovering over him with an awestruck expression. Alexander struggles to steady himself and then—helpless to resist the urge—reaches down to touch his own stomach.

Visually, it's not that impressive. He looks pudgier than normal, yes. Rounded and thick. Not at all unnatural. But when he sets his palms to the soft swell, the result is electric. He can feel an almost visceral _wrongness_ , a difference that is delightfully disconcerting. And inside, the extra pressure creates delicious new friction. It aches viciously. Alexander presses harder.

A moment later and George's hands are there too, settling just below where Alexander's rest. Broader, heavier palms press down even more firmly, and Alexander cries out. He grabs George's wrists but fails to fight him off.

In fairness, he is not trying very hard.

"How does it feel?" George asks, tone tinged with disbelief.

"It feels like—" Alexander gasps, but can't figure out how to express it.

He can't _think_ through the agony of George touching him. _Too much_ , and strange, a fullness like nothing he has ever experienced. And the extra surreal fact that with every inhale, his insides jostle the incomprehensible volume of tentacle twining inside him. Creating movement—a slippery, slithering illusion that leaves him shaken and unsteady.

"It feels like there's something _alive_ inside me," he confesses in a shaky voice. "It's too much. It— It's wedged so deep, I can't—"

"Does it hurt?" George asks, and he leans more of his weight forward onto his palms with the question.

" _Yes_!" Alexander shrieks, clutching at George's arms, babbling helplessly as his husband applies more weight instead of relenting. "Yes, oh god, oh _fuck_ , it hurts! It isn't fucking possible. I can't do it, I can't, I _can't_ —"

"You've already done it." George finally sits back on his heels and takes his hands off Alexander's stomach.

Contrary creature that he is, Alexander immediately resents the withdrawal.

He breathes through his tears. In. Out. Grounding himself. Cataloging sensations, memorizing the moment, savoring every nuance of this strange physical violation. George continues to watch, a fond smile quirked at one corner of his mouth, an inferno glinting behind dark eyes. George makes no attempt to rush him. Simply waits with apparently endless patience, allowing Alexander to take his time.

When he feels more in control, Alexander shifts on the bed and braces his elbows against the mattress. He draws a deep breath and then lets it out with a whimper as he pushes himself up.

" _Alexander_ ," George protests, but there's laughter in his voice.

Alexander doesn't stop until he is sitting more or less upright, propped on trembling arms, panting fast and shallow and noisy. He opens his eyes—they closed involuntarily with the exertion—and stares down at his own body. He has to blink away tears to get a clear view. 

The bulge of his stomach is more pronounced and unnatural than when he was lying on his back.

" _Oh_ ," George murmurs, touching Alexander's stomach more gently this time. "Oh, that's a beautiful sight. God, just look at you."

Alexander raises his head with difficulty, desperate to see George's face. Giddy at the expression he finds there, his husband staring at his stomach with absolute and obvious rapture.

"My beautiful boy." George presses harder, eliciting a pained grunt. "I will never tire of the deviant things you allow me to do to you."

Alexander's eyes sting with new tears born of pain and overwhelmed affection, and he blurts, "I would let you do so much worse. Anything. Anything you can think of, I want it."

"My insatiable little slut," George retorts with a pleased smile.

"Yes," Alexander agrees eagerly. " _Yours_."

"Oh, I am going to enjoy this enormously. I've been thinking about your mouth all day."

Alexander moans a needy noise at the promise in those words. And he sounds utterly helpless a moment later when he asks, "Where do you want me? I think— I don't know if I can stay on my knees, but—" He would try. For George he would try.

"No, my dear," George admonishes gently. "This new toy is perfectly safe as we've used it, but you can't simply move and stand and walk like normal. I won't have you damage yourself."

Alexander considers the thoroughly reasonable rebuke and nods. Then—because surely this much movement is no riskier than what he's already done—he scoots carefully back so that he sits propped against the smooth headboard. Raises his hands to either side of his head against the cool surface. Pointedly expectant.

" _Oh_ ," George groans, and the sound goes straight to Alexander's already straining cock.

George crawls forward without further prompting and rises onto his knees so that the naked line of his cock bobs directly in Alexander's field of vision. An instant later and George grabs his wrists, pinning them to the headboard with bruising strength.

Alexander licks his lips in anticipation.

"Open your pretty mouth," his husband orders.

He instantly complies, and in the span of a heartbeat he is choking. Swallowing as best he can around the deep, rhythmic shove of cock across his tongue and down his throat. His entire body spasms as he fights his gag reflex. He struggles to breathe, and with every helpless shudder he becomes freshly aware of the enormous presence of the toy filling his belly and wriggling along his insides.

George chases his own pleasure viciously, every bit as relentless as his efforts with the massive toy. There is ferocious strength in every thrust of his hips, and Alexander's head knocks back roughly as he takes what George is forcing on him.

It's going to be quick. Alexander knows this—after so long and patient a buildup there is _no way_ George will hold out long—which means outlasting him should be easy.

But it turns out Alexander is too tightly wound. He is frantic, and trapped, and the pain has done nothing to ease his desperate arousal. He's so turned on even the pleasure hurts, and when George moans his name and spills deep, that's _it_.

Alexander comes. He gags and chokes as he swallows George's release, his own shout of satisfaction effectively silenced by the unforgiving length filling his throat, the crush of George's belly smothering him. It might be the best orgasm of Alexander's life; at the moment he's too lightheaded to be sure.

George remains exactly where he is for a very long time after. Panting shallowly and pinning Alexander to the headboard for several endless moments. Only when Alexander begins to fight and squirm for want of air does George finally withdraw, easing his body back, powerful hands releasing both of Alexander's wrists.

George retreats, nudging Alexander's knees apart so he can settle once more into his previous position. When he sees the slick mess Alexander has made across his own stomach, George gives a rueful shake of his head.

"My dear boy." There is exasperation in the tone. "I wish you had waited until _after_ we were finished. Removing this thing is going to take nearly as long as putting it in, and I don't think you'll enjoy it much like this."

"I"m sorry," Alexander rasps, his voice fucked out and sated.

It's not as though George is wrong. Already the enormous sensation inside him is crossing into less pleasant kinds of torture, as over-stimulation turns Alexander's entire body into hypersensitive agony.

"I suppose there's nothing for it," George murmurs. He makes quick work of tugging Alexander back down the bed and affixing the restraints at his wrists once more. But instead of reaching for the lube and the flared base of the plug, he leans down and breathes—hot and teasing—directly over Alexander's softening cock.

Even that minimal sensation makes Alexander whimper, but he can't help his body's response to his husband. He can't prevent the twitch of renewed arousal as he begins to stiffen once more.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he gasps, straining against his bindings. "You can't!"

George peers up at him, a wicked twinkle in gorgeous eyes. "Try not to come this time," he chides. "Not until I say so."

Then he lowers his head, putting his mouth directly to work, and Alexander screams.

**Author's Note:**

> I also hang out **[over on Dreamwidth](https://dreamlittleyo.dreamwidth.org/)** , if you'd like to find me. (And recently set up a **[Hamilton/Washington Community](https://whamilton.dreamwidth.org/)** over there, just a heads up to anyone who might be interested :)


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